Youth and Blood
by Captainraychill
Summary: Lily Luna Potter is fascinated by the veiled and mysterious Narcissa Malfoy. Narcissa is determined to look young and beautiful at any cost. Dark Harry Potter fan fiction written for NextGenDarkFest 2012 on Livejournal dot com. Thanks to my beta, icicle33! Please read warnings.
1. Chapter 1

Dark Harry Potter Fan Fiction written for NextGenDarkFest 2012 on Livejournal dot com.

**PLEASE READ WARNINGS:**

**Warnings: **Grief, obsession, drugging potions, blood, dark magic, a bit of femme slash, implied incest and implied cannibalism. And some bad language - you've been warned. If you wish, you may check my profile to see what I do not warn for.

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognize I do not own. No profit is being made by me.

**Author's Notes: **During the main action of this story, Lily Luna is a teenager, anywhere from 14 to an immature 16. Scorpius is two years old than her, Draco about 40 and Narcissa in her mid-sixties. It is approximately 25 years after the defeat of Voldemort.

Thank you to my beta, icicle33, who is amazing!

* * *

**YOUTH AND BLOOD**

_That age is best which is the first,_

_When youth and blood are warmer..._

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

Stories begin with _once upon a time_, and my story begins with her.

Once upon a time, in the middle of summer, a girl named Lily Luna Potter saw Narcissa Malfoy for the first time. I was seven years old and eating strawberry ice cream in Diagon Alley. The sun burned my arms pink, and sweat glazed my neck. But Narcissa seemed as cool as porcelain.

She was dressed in pristine white from her gorgeous robes to her gloves to her high-heeled shoes. Her face was hidden, like a bride's, by a white, lace veil. She was slender, elegant and almost as tall as the man beside her. I had never seen anyone like her before, and I was captivated.

"Mum, who's that?" I said, ignoring the cold drip of ice cream between my hot fingers.

"Draco Malfoy," Mum said in the same hard voice she used to scold. Somehow, I knew Draco wasn't a woman's name.

"No, Mum, who's the lady?"

"Oh, that's his mother, Narcissa Malfoy."

_Narcissa_.

Since that day, I've whispered her name thousands of times. Three soft syllables, born of myth. One longing, one sibilant and one as gentle as a sigh.

_Nar. Siss. Ah._

I wondered if she had given her son his features and coloring. His chin, nose and cheekbones were all sharply sculpted. He had fine hair as white as snow, which was unfortunately receding, and pale skin. His eyes were pale, too, but I couldn't see their color.

Perhaps, under her veil, Narcissa Malfoy's hair was as sleek and black as Snow White's. Perhaps her eyes were bright blue, like lapis lazuli.

"Your ice cream," Mum said, casting a sharp _Scourgify_. "For the last time, Lily Luna, pay attention."

I heard _for the last time_ about ten times a day.

My mum was pretty, but she was _not_ as cool as porcelain. She had red hair, freckles and burned with impatient energy. She never wore dresses. I didn't understand how she could spend her days in the sky – among billowy, seashell-pink clouds – and then seem to love coming back to a house filled with overflowing laundry baskets. Where the only intrigue was the Curse of the Perpetually Lost Left Sock.

Daddy. He was different.

He was a Hero. Stories had been written about him, songs. _Hair of raven-wing and eyes of green-eternal spring._ He was the Boy Who Lived. The Orphan locked under the stairs by his Wicked Uncle. Champion. Chosen One. He Who Had Defeated Voldemort and Saved the World.

And he was _my_ daddy.

Unlike Mum, he had poetry in his soul. He'd called me Flower Moon when I was little. And _my Lily, my Luna_ still. When we flew into the clouds together, on his broom, we saw shapes: Chinese Fireballs, sleeping princesses, wet kneazles. We watched the sunrise and the sunset.

I wished his hair didn't stick out everywhere. I wished he didn't belch when he drank ale with my uncles. I wished he were taller. If he were taller, he would be even more heroic.

When I looked in the mirror, I had my own wishes. I longed for black hair instead of red, blue eyes instead of brown. I was glad I hadn't inherited Mum's freckles and that my skin was white and smooth.

And now I wished - upon a star, upon a fallen eyelash, upon a coin in a well - that I could see Narcissa Malfoy's face.

"Why is she wearing a veil?" I asked.

"Vanity," Mum said. "She's got to be almost sixty now. Just a few years younger than your grandma."

Narcissa and her son paused before the entrance of a dark alley, the scary one that Mum and Daddy never let me or my brothers go near. Jamie and Al imagined all kinds of grotesques down that forbidden path: cursed bones and vials of dragon's blood and who knows what other dark secrets. I didn't care to sully my mind with evil or corruption or ugliness. I preferred to contemplate what was beautiful and good.

I watched as Draco Malfoy lifted his arm, like a gentleman. His mother placed her white-gloved hand upon his black sleeve. Together, they disappeared into the darkness of the alley, her figure fading. When I couldn't see even the moonlight glow of her anymore, I turned my attention back to my ice cream. It had melted onto my hand again, and I licked the sweet, sticky pink from between my fingers.

Back then, I didn't know the meaning of the word _vanity_, so I looked it up that night in James' dictionary. I realized that Mum had meant Narcissa Malfoy was proud of her looks and ashamed of aging.

Sixty was old. I adored Gran Molly. She was love and cinnamon and hugs like a warm quilt. But she was _not_ beautiful. Her face was wrinkled, and her hair was gray. Her capable hands were fine-cracked and stained with age spots like an ancient map. Lost world of youth.

I remembered Narcissa Malfoy's slim, gloved fingers on her son's arm, as graceful as swan feathers. The gesture had been so elegant, so noble, and I knew the truth. I knew it in my heart. Behind her veil, there was beauty.

_Queen most regal, Bride so pure and white._

I was determined to learn everything I could about the Malfoys.

Particularly Narcissa.

* * *

Mum and Dad wouldn't tell me about the war. They said I was too young. My brothers tried to convince me that Voldemort's giant snake, Nagini, had eaten people whole, but they didn't know anything either. They just liked to invent shocking, foolish stories.

I learned what I could from various sources, and in the end, I determined it must have been dreadful for Narcissa.

She was a pure blood, and the Malfoys seemed to care about that. _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper. Purity Conquers All._ Yet she'd been born a Black, and I assumed they must have been more tolerant because Andromeda Black Tonks, Teddy's grandmother, had married a Muggle-born wizard. But because of Narcissa's ties to two powerful, pure blood families, she had been trapped in a world of terrible darkness during the war.

Her eldest sister, Bellatrix, was a Death Eater (a solider for Voldemort) who had run mad. Narcissa's husband had been a Death Eater, too. Two years after Daddy had won the war, Lucius Malfoy had died in Azkaban Prison. It was from that moment, because of grief and not because of vanity, that Narcissa had worn her white veil and retired from public life. Her son, a young recruit of Voldemort, had never been convicted. I think he had also been a victim of circumstance. After many diligent years of working for the Ministry and giving generously to charity and the arts, he had restored his family's reputation. His picture was often in the paper, but Narcissa's never was. I hadn't known then how to request archived copies of the _Prophet_ or which issues to request.

Draco Malfoy had married and had a son, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. But when the child was born, his mother died. Despite that, Scorpius was lucky because he had Narcissa for his mother.

The family lived in Malfoy Manor. I imagined it to be a castle with high turrets, lush gardens and secret passages. Castles were in so many of the stories I loved to read. At night, in my shabby bed with its mismatched pillowcases, I closed my eyes and became the Princess Briar-Rose in the topmost tower. Cursed to sleep for one hundred years, awaiting true love's kiss. Of course, the Sleeping Beauty would have had a lovely bed with silky sheets embroidered in silver and gold and a canopy overgrown with wild roses. It was difficult for me to desire such beautiful things yet live in a plain, old house.

Sometimes, I wished I'd been born a Malfoy instead of a Potter.

* * *

When Mrs. Tonks' eyesight failed and couldn't be restored, I volunteered to read aloud to her. I brought well-loved copies of _Jane Eyre_ and _The Tale of the Sorceress_. But Mrs. Tonks preferred the drivel of _Witch Weekly_. After endless hours of reciting cobbler recipes and articles about spring cleaning, my voice would finally lull her to sleep, and I could wander through her house. Searching. I had to. She refused to tell me anything about her childhood.

After two months, I found it. A black-and-white photograph of the Black sisters.

It had been torn to pieces and scattered on the bottom of a trunk hidden deep in the spidery gloom of the attic. In the gray light from a round window, I reassembled the puzzle of the three figures. I felt a thrill when I saw pale hair. The photograph must have been taken before Bellatrix married, so Narcissa couldn't have been older than sixteen. I traded out eyes and lips, until I placed the final piece down and saw Narcissa Malfoy for the first time.

Perhaps my fascination with her would have ended that day if she'd been plain or only moderately pretty. But she was breathtakingly beautiful. Just as I knew she would be. And in the dim, dusty light of her sister's attic, fascination quietly and irrevocably transformed into obsession.

Narcissa's braided hair was white. I couldn't tell the color of her eyes, but they were light-colored, perhaps blue or gray or green. She had a perfect nose, full lips and a long, elegant neck. The photograph's damage had rendered it as still as a Muggle picture. But even immobile, her expression was entrancing. Bellatrix was arrogant, black-eyed intensity. Andromeda was a placid, brown fawn. But Narcissa was something above them both. I saw nobility in the tilt of her chin, strength and serenity in her eyes. She was an angel.

I remembered a myth I'd read, about a young man with a name like Narcissa's. He had fallen in love with his own reflection and died because he couldn't stop staring at himself, not even long enough to eat or drink. I would die, enamored of my own reflection, too, if I were as beautiful as she.

Hours or minutes later – I did not know - Mrs. Tonks called my name.

I looked at the Andromeda Black in the photograph. She had not been beautiful as a girl, but she'd been delicate with pale skin and large, doe eyes. Now, her eyes were murky with disease, and like Gran Molly, she was gray-haired, wrinkled and spotted. A ruin of what she'd once been. I refused to dwell on the fact that she was only two years older than Narcissa.

Mrs. Tonks called out my name again, and I answered, "I'll be right there."

Carefully, I picked up the pieces of Narcissa's image, each one as precious as a diamond, and tucked them into the breast pocket of my blouse. I scooped up the rest of the photograph and dropped it back into the trunk like fingers full of ash.

"Where were you, love?" Mrs. Tonks asked as I entered the parlor. "I was worried."

"The loo," I answered. "I think it's time for me to go home, ma'am."

A week later, I stopped visiting Mrs. Tonks. Others had agreed to read to her. I hid the pieces of Narcissa's photograph in a secret compartment of my jewelry box. Every night, I reassembled them and stared at her, enraptured, like Narcissus in love.

* * *

When I could finally use magic at Hogwarts, the first spell I learned in secret was _Reparo_. I mended Narcissa's photograph, and its magical properties returned. She barely moved. Her eyes blinked once. She tilted her head slightly to the left. She ran one finger over her skirt, smoothing out wrinkles without even looking down. Often, I would stare at myself in the bathroom mirror and try to emulate the grace of her simple movements.

When I was seven years old, I asked for long, white robes for Christmas and pretended to play bride and princess in them. My cousin, Rose, a rough-tumble girl with wild hair and fierce eyes, always wanted to play Auror instead. When spring came, she and my reckless brothers splattered mud on my white dress and knocked me down onto the grass as they played. By May, the dress bore stains that even magic couldn't remove. I folded it up like a fragile, tear-stained letter and placed it in the trunk at the foot of my bed.

When Aunt Fleur, Dominique and Gabrielle came to visit that summer, I pretended to be sick. I was consumed with jealousy of their long, blond hair and pale eyes. They looked like her, and it wasn't fair.

When I was nine years old, I saw Mr. Malfoy again at King's Cross Station, still dressed all in black. He nodded at Daddy, who nodded back. I wondered how they knew each other. Narcissa wasn't there, but her grandson was. It was his first year at Hogwarts, just like it was for Al and Rose.

Scorpius was a thin, pale boy with his family's white-blond hair. He was tall for his age and as rigid as a coffin in a starched, black suit. Rose said he looked pompous, but I saw beyond his cold eyes, to the hard seam of his mouth. He was nervous.

Every time Rose owled me (which she did less and less the longer she was away) she complained about Scorpius Malfoy. About his pure blood pride, about his arrogance and the way he walked around, "so superior, with his pointy chin pointing up at the pointy sky". I wrote back, "How can the sky be pointy?" Scorpius teased Rose about her hair. He outscored her in Potions and Charms. They hexed each other into the hospital about once a month.

Of course, by the start of their fifth year, they admitted they were madly in love. All their passionate scorn turned into passionate kisses. I was happy for them – but also envious. I'd never had any desire for Scorpius, but I was envious of their love. I wanted such a powerful thing for myself. And I missed Rose. She was different then, distracted. She never paid attention anymore when I spoke to her, her eyes always drifting to Slytherin table or into the dreamy faraway.

I wanted to ask her to describe their kisses. I had never been kissed before. But I remained silent, afraid I would sound young and stupid.

* * *

We were all devastated by Rose's disappearance.

We all gathered at the Burrow.

* * *

I cried until my nose turned bright red. I glanced at Gran Molly's enchanted clock constantly, as if a hand with Rose's face on it would suddenly appear and declare her whereabouts. (After the war had ended and peace prevailed, we grandchildren had never been added to the clock.) Daddy, Mum and my aunts and uncles came and went through the fireplace, frantic and grim. A full day after Rose was lost, the silent pressure between Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron exploded. Surrounded by family and friends, they screamed vicious things at each other, laying blame. I curled deeper under a bright afghan on the couch and watched Grandpa gently place his hands on Hugo's slight shoulders.

I had thought no one could be more distraught than Rose's parents. But then the fireplace flared with green flames, and Scorpius stumbled into the living room. There was soot on his cheek. The raw, desperate look on his face stopped the fight cold.

"Please say..." he whispered, his voice shaking. "Please."

Aunt Hermione rushed to Scorpius and put her arms around him. He began to sob, and they fell to the floor, onto their knees, still clutching each other and crying. I had never seen anything like it before. It was like a scene from a tragedy, and I watched in a trance.

Several hours later, Mr. Malfoy came to take Scorpius home. He looked the same as he had when I'd first seen him years ago, perhaps even better, having repaired his receding hairline. I couldn't help but feel ashamed of the shabby, cluttered living room of the Burrow. The crooked windows and the slanting floor. The scuffed dining room table, every chair unmatched. A gentleman, Mr. Malfoy didn't allow his eyes to linger on these flaws.

How high and bright must the windows be in Malfoy Manor? Were the floors crafted of rare marble? Did its dining room table gleam like a mirror?

Mr. Malfoy offered to help in any way he could. He shook Daddy's hand. As he and Scorpius prepared to Disapparate, they both glanced at me. Mr. Malfoy gave a gentle smile and looked away. Before disappearing, Scorpius whispered, "Goodbye, Lily Luna." He had never spoken to me before that moment.

That was the beginning of our strange friendship.

Scorpius had loved Rose with all his heart and soul. He was equally strong in his conviction that she was dead. There was no proof of this. No body had been found, no drop of blood, no strand of curly hair. Daddy and the other Aurors still searched. Aunt Hermione fought like a tiger when the Ministry attempted to close the case. She and Uncle Ron lived in different houses now, and Hugo had nightmares. Gran Molly added all her remaining grandchildren to her clock.

"How do you know she's dead?" I once asked Scorpius. "Why can't you have hope?"

"I just know," he said, his voice bereft.

Rose was all we had in common. I had been her past. Scorpius had been her future. But that connection was enough. That connection was what we _were_. We still had our Gryffindor and Slytherin friends – but sometimes, away from everyone else, by the Black Lake or perched upon a windowsill, we would sit beside each other and talk. We talked about my childhood, which was talking about Rose. We talked about his childhood, the manor and his life there. And Narcissa.

One day, I finally found the courage to ask, "What does your grandmother look like under her veil?"

He looked at me and smiled, making me blush. He reached up and stroked his thumb across my warm cheek. "She's beautiful," he murmured. "Unbelievably beautiful."

"Yes. I knew she had to be." My skin grew even hotter, and my heartbeat fluttered inside my chest.

My body's reaction had nothing to do with the handsome, young man before me or his hand on my face. I wondered if I leaned forward and kissed him, would we become boyfriend and girlfriend? Would he invite me to his house? Could I meet her at last? But I didn't want to ruin the tenuous bond that Scorpius and I shared, so I did nothing.

"I don't know how she stays so beautiful," he said, lowering his hand. "I think she hides because the world would be jealous. It wouldn't understand."

* * *

Months later, just days before Easter, Scorpius complained that Frederick Zabini had decided not to go to Malfoy Manor with him on break and that he'd be bored out of his skull with no one but his family there.

I had read stories all my life. Fairy tales and romances and adventures. I'd spent my life curled up with a book. Curled up with dreams. So I instantly recognized this moment for what it was. The Door opened, the Choice made, the Chance taken. The pivotal action that would change everything and lead to a new world. Alice and Dorothy had taken this journey before me. Amata and Sir Luckless. Lucy Pevensie. Beauty, traded for a stolen rose. I was ready for my story to begin.

"I could go," I told Scorpius. "To keep you company. I just need to ask my parents."

A few owls and a few days later, I walked with him beyond the perimeter of Hogwarts. It was just after dinner the night before Easter Break began. I wore my best dress under my coat and high heels that had cost me two months' allowance. My walnut wand and shrunken luggage were in my coat pockets. Scorpius put his arm around me, and we Disapparated, reappearing before the tall iron gates of Malfoy Manor. Like an alchemist, the light of the setting sun turned the base metal into gold.

At last, I had arrived at my Destiny.

* * *

Scorpius held his hand out to me, and I took it. As we walked forward, intricate twists of wrought iron became tendrils of black smoke. Heat sliced through my body as we walked through the barrier.

"Young Master Scorpius and guest," a deep voice whispered inside my head. I looked back and watched the smoke harden back into iron.

"The famous white peacocks," Scorpius said in a weary voice as we walked. "The Malfoy gardens. The Manor." He took it all for granted. He didn't know any other life and didn't realize that he lived a world of privilege and splendor.

But I had been dreaming of this moment since I was a little girl and took nothing for granted. Not the crunch of fine gravel, awkward under my heels. Not the yew hedges cut as precisely as diamonds. Not the peacocks with their lavish trains of bridal-white feathers. Not the massive stone and glass facade of Malfoy Manor.

It should have been my home.

The enormous wooden doors of the manor opened inward for us. As I walked inside, I was overcome with awe and wonder. I felt as if I were entering a sacred place, a cathedral with vaulted ceilings and sculpted stone. The grand staircase climbed up into darkness.

"The Entry Hall," Scorpius said, as if he were announcing _the kitchen sink_.

He shrugged off his coat and dropped it, but it never hit the floor. A house-elf must have appeared to catch it and then promptly Disapparated. Scorpius placed his hands lightly on my shoulders, helped me out of my coat and then dropped it as well, supremely confident that it wouldn't touch the floor, which it didn't. It disappeared as well.

"Pretty dress," he said.

"Thank you," I replied as I combed my fingers through my long hair to neaten it.

My dress was pale pink chiffon. Its cut was plain but flattering, the hem grazing my calves. I had sewn miniature, silk ribbon roses along the neckline. I cast a _Scourgify_ on my pink shoes to remove the mud that had seeped up their heels.

Scorpius was staring at my silk ribbon roses, and I blushed, wondering if they looked homemade. Uncomfortable, I traced a wooden snake that was carved into an ornate frame on the wall. There was no portrait inside the frame, only a blackness as sleek and dark as ink. I didn't dare touch it.

"What is that?"

"A mirror," Scorpius replied. "All the mirrors in the house have been darkened."

Before I could ask him why, Mr. Malfoy walked into the room. He looked older than the last time I'd seen him at the Burrow almost a year ago. His pale hair was receding again. But he was still handsome – tall, lean and dressed impeccably in tailored gray and white. His steps were brisk.

"Welcome to Malfoy Manor, Miss Potter," he said graciously.

"Thank you for inviting me, Mr. Malfoy."

When I reached out to shake his outstretched hand, he lifted my fingers to his lips. No one had ever kissed my hand before. His touch was cold, but I was still charmed by the courtliness of the gesture.

"Scorpius," he said. "What were you and Lily Luna discussing? You seemed engrossed."

"I was telling her the family's darkest secrets. She'll know them all by dessert."

From above, a woman's voice said, "Then she must stay with us always."

It was a lovely, soft voice, and I knew it could only belong to one person.

Narcissa.

I was breathless. My whole body began to tremble as if a bell had been struck deep inside me. I took a step forward and looked up toward the voice, my eyes trying to penetrate the darkness at the top of the staircase.

Would she still be veiled against the jealous world? Would I finally see her face? She was the youngest and loveliest of her sisters. Surely, she would still be the loveliest. Scorpius had said she was beautiful, unbelievably beautiful.

_But how beautiful could she really be?_ Logic whispered in my ear. Narcissa was over sixty years old. One of her sisters was mad and dead, the other, blind and old. Why did I hope against Nature that she had somehow evaded the damage Time could do? Why did I yearn for her to be beautiful?

Because I wanted the girl in the photograph. I wanted to know her as much as I wanted to know the mysterious, veiled lady from Diagon Alley. Both had fascinated me since I was a child. And because I wanted Narcissa to know me and love me and treat me as kindred. I belonged here, in this beautiful life, with her.

A pair of delicate, white shoes emerged from the darkness as she walked down the stairs. Then the hem of a long, white gown, shimmering in the candlelight. Sewn with thousands of crystals, it should have been as heavy as armor. Yet it flowed like silvery water, over the shape of her knee and the length of her slender legs. With every step she took, my heart beat louder and faster inside my body.

When her hand appeared in the light, I gasped. It was _young_, with skin as smooth and white as the skin inside my wrist. A large diamond glittered on the golden band circling her ring finger.

I watched, mesmerized, as she appeared to me slowly. Her slim arms, her tiny waist, her high breasts, her creamy throat and long, swan neck. All of her - one graceful, white, luminous, perfect line leading up to...

She walked fully into the light.

"Mother, may I present Lily Luna Potter? Lily Luna, my mother, Narcissa Malfoy."

I wasn't prepared. How could I have ever been prepared for her face?

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**Chapter Notes:**

This story's opening quote is from the famous poem _To the Virgins, To Make Much of Time_ by Robert Herrick (b. 1591 – d. 1674) which begins, "Gather ye rosebuds, while ye may." Here and there throughout, I also borrow lines from my favorite fairy tale, _Little Snow White_, by the Brothers Grimm. Lily Luna's appreciation of the syllables of Narcissa's name is a nod to Vladimir Nabokov's _Lolita_, which was published in 1955.

**Thanks for reading - reviews are welcomed!**


	2. Chapter 2

**YOUTH AND BLOOD**

* * *

"_Mother, may I present Lily Luna Potter? Lily Luna, my mother, Narcissa Malfoy."_

_I wasn't prepared. How could I have ever been prepared for her face?_

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

Narcissa Malfoy was unchanged from the day she'd had her photograph taken with her sisters, over fifty years ago. _This wasn't possible. It couldn't be real._ Her skin was exquisite, pale and unlined. _Not a spot, not a wrinkle. She was an illusion._ Her cheeks blushed pink like a moonstone rose. Her eyes were a pure and glacial blue. Her white hair was twined into braids and gathered at the nape of her neck.

She was otherworldly.

Unnatural.

I knew what sort of creature was white as if bloodless, eternally young and beautiful. I knew she was reclusive and veiled herself against sunlight. I knew I had been brought to her after sunset, into a house with no mirrors.

I started to shake with fear.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, my dear," Narcissa said, her voice sweet. "Scorpius has told us so much about you."

"You... You can't be his grandmother," I said, my voice quaking. "You're too young."

"What a charming girl," she said. "I'm glad we're keeping you."

I wanted to run, but I couldn't even move. I was frozen as she moved toward me. This was how a vampire lured its prey, with surreal beauty, with the narcotic seduction of a soft voice and piercing eyes. I had invited myself to my own death. I was certain of it. I could only watch, caught in a spell of fear and fascination, as her white hands reached for me.

She touched my shoulders, and her palms were warm against my skin. I saw faint fans of wrinkles at the corners of her eyes before she kissed my cheek. I breathed in her feminine scent and heard the steady thrum of her living heart. She was human, of course, and I had been foolish to think otherwise.

And because she was human – oh, God, she was everything I'd ever dreamed she would be. Everything I'd ever wanted.

_Queen most regal, Bride so pure and white._

She moved to kiss my other cheek, the fragrance of her skin infusing me with dreamy pleasure. I took a deep breath and let it out as a blissful sigh, leaning toward her. I couldn't help it. I was enchanted and helpless to hide my feelings.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, I burned with shame. I struggled not to cry.

I had dropped my fork again. The silver clattered on fine china, as loud as a _Bombarda_ in the cavernous dining room. The Malfoys politely ignored my mistakes. There was a red wine stain on the napkin on my lap and one on my bodice. It was just a drop, but it seemed as bright and violent as a wound to me. I would have surreptitiously cleaned the pink chiffon, but I realized my wand was gone, somewhere in the enormous house, in the pocket of my coat.

Mr. Malfoy and Narcissa sat on opposite ends of the long dining table. I sat across from Scorpius but could hardly see him through the slim tapers of a silver candelabra. We were like the four cardinal points on a compass rose, distant and forever divided.

Except I was different from the three of them. They didn't drop their forks. They knew what to say about the bouquet and flavor of wine. They moved slowly, with a structured grace, almost as if dancing to music I couldn't hear.

_To the manor born_. Now I knew there was such a thing. They belonged here, in opulence, under glittering chandeliers. And I belonged in a small, shabby house, at a crowded table where raucous laughter bounced off copper kettles, and everyone fought over the last roll in the basket.

How I wished I were home. I had never felt more alone. Or more unworthy.

"Darling," Narcissa said. I looked up to see her gazing at me, and my stomach gave a little flip. I hoped she couldn't see the tear-shine in my eyes.

"I can barely see you to speak to you, dear," she said. "Friends don't stand on such formality. Please come. Sit next to me."

At Narcissa's command, my place setting vanished and then reappeared in the space beside her left hand. I obeyed, rising from my chair. The strike of my heels on the stone floor echoed through the room. I clutched my white napkin in my hands. When I sat down and spread the linen in my lap, I realized it was clean. On both sides. I looked down at my dress. Its stain was gone, too. I glanced shyly at Narcissa, but her eyes were turned away as she delicately sipped her cranberry-colored wine. All my distress and embarrassment faded away.

She was kind, as well as beautiful.

"Now, tell me," she said in a low, conspiratorial tone. "Do you have a boyfriend? You're so lovely that you must."

I blushed and shook my head, unable to suppress my smile. She had called me lovely, and I was beginning to realize... It seemed impossible that I would ever want a boy again, if I ever had. How strange that this thought had never occurred to me before when it felt so right.

I listened to Narcissa's sweet voice, answered her questions, watched her smooth movements. I marveled at the elegant lines that formed her face, which seemed both soft and sharp at once. Happiness and wine filled me with a deep, warm contentment. It began in my chest, a pleasant burn, and flowed through my arteries, carrying lazy delight into every part of my body.

I didn't even notice when Mr. Malfoy and Scorpius retired to the study.

"Brandy and cigars," Narcissa said to explain their absence. She insisted on walking me to my room. "The manor is like a maze."

* * *

I followed Narcissa up the grand staircase and through a series of long, dim corridors. The manor _was _like a maze. Finding the front door again would be impossible, not that I wished to. As we passed them, torches on the walls flared to life with pale blue flames, shining on Narcissa's hair and her white dress, making her a beacon. When I looked behind us, I saw the torches extinguish themselves, one by one. We were alone in the world. Nothing existed outside of our sphere of spectral light.

At last, Narcissa stopped and opened a door. Warm light gilded her face. She gestured for me to enter, and when I stepped inside the room, I gasped.

When I'd entered the manor, I'd been overcome by its grandeur and formality. This room was cozy and intimate, golden with candlelight and luxury. There was a mahogany canopy bed. The fire in the hearth cast a liquid sheen on silky pillows. Flowers perfumed the air. All the lovely things my senses perceived blended together like voices singing a chord, filling me with pleasure.

How could I ever sleep under a tatty quilt again? After nights in the bed of Briar-Rose?

Two house-elves stood in the room. I had never seen one before, but I knew these two were unusual. Although their large feet were bare, they wore clothing – white, linen dresses trimmed with lace. And their faces were identical. Their enormous, round eyes were the exact same shade of brown streaked with gold.

"These are my personal house-elves," Narcissa said. "They answer to the call of _Twin_ and have been trained to care for women. If you tear a seam, they can repair it with stitches as fine as Bradochian lace. They can braid your hair one hundred different ways."

I gazed at Narcissa's braids, noticing, for the first time, the delicate plaits as thin as daisy stems woven throughout.

One of the elves stepped forward and held her hand out to me. I glanced at her thick, stubby fingers and wondered how they could craft anything as fine as those braids. I took her hand and let her lead me to the center of the room. I was faced away from Narcissa as the two elves began to undress me.

They each took off one of my shoes. I shifted from one foot to the other, staring down at my bare toes on the plush carpet. I felt a mild tingle of magical energy nibble at the top of my spine. Alarmed, I placed a protective hand over the small, pink buttons at the nape of my neck.

"No," I murmured with soft panic. "There's no need."

But they didn't listen to me. Their magic pushed my hand away gently but firmly. The air obeyed their subtlest commands, and my buttons came undone. The back of my dress split apart.

Was Narcissa still in the room, watching me?

I tried to turn around, but that same persistent pressure kept my head in place. With a chiffon whisper, my dress fell to the floor.

Even though my body was flushed pink, I shivered. I wondered, in agony, how awful my under garments must look to her. My bra was ugly. Plain, cotton and not quite white anymore. And my knickers... Oh, God. They didn't even match my bra. They were cotton as well but pale blue. I wished I owned something beautiful to wear. Delicate creations of lace and satin, fragile as a butterfly's wings.

I felt another tingle as my bra unhooked itself, and my back was bared. I wanted to hold the white cups to my breasts, but I knew the elves would persist until they'd stripped the garment away. I held my arms stiffly in front of me and watched my bra slide down over my fingertips and drop to the floor. I looked down at my small breasts. My pink nipples grew hard with a little twist of feeling. Mortified, I covered them with my palms.

The elves took off my knickers next, using their hands instead of magic. I felt their fingers, rough with calluses, slip under the elastic on my hips. I pressed my legs together tightly. I couldn't help it. The fabric tugged between my thighs. Caught. Again, my body was moved by a gentle force. I was bent over. Pressure moved my legs apart slightly. My knickers slid down my legs, and I stepped out of them.

My hair wasn't long enough to hide my bum. I felt the desperate urge to reach back and cover myself with my hands, but I knew how foolish that would look. Instead, I moved one hand from my breasts to cover the hair between my legs. I waited like this, silent and vulnerable, for what seemed like an hour, before I felt the cool caress against my back.

It was silk. Real silk, I think, which I'd never felt before.

A gorgeous robe enveloped me, sliding against my skin as fluidly as water. It was pink and patterned with green vines enchanted to bloom with tiny, white blossoms. I willingly slipped my arms into the full sleeves. My breath caught as the fabric brushed my hard nipples. I saw movement to my right and was allowed to turn my head as Narcissa walked around me. I grabbed the edges of the robe and pulled it over the front of my body.

"Don't be shy, Lily Luna," she said. "You're beautiful."

"No, I'm not."

_Not like you._

She stood before me now, slender and tall. Had I taken one step forward, my head would have fit snugly beneath her chin. Her hands reached between our bodies and straightened the panels of my robe. She tied its sash into a neat bow, her fingers brushing against my stomach through the silk, making me quiver. I was dizzy from the scent of her skin.

"Come with me," she said, stepping back.

I followed her to a luxurious vanity covered with vials of perfume and enameled cosmetic boxes. We sat side by side on a velvet bench, her body so close to mine that I could feel the heat of her blood. The gold-framed mirror before us was as black as ink.

"Why are all the mirrors dark?" I asked.

"Every mirror in the house was covered the day my husband, Lucius, died. It's a sign of mourning."

"But he died over twenty years ago," I said, amazed.

"Lily Luna." Narcissa's tone was almost chastising. She turned the power of her pale, blue eyes upon me, and I stared at her, captivated. "True love lasts forever."

Her words left me speechless. _True love lasts forever._ This was exactly how I felt. With all my heart, I believed in that kind of devotion, the soul-deep bond that could never be severed, not even by Death. To have inspired such a feeling in someone so beautiful, Lucius Malfoy must have been more than just a Death Eater. To be loved by her, _beloved_, there had to have been some good in him.

"Would you like to see him?" she asked.

"See him?"

She moved her hand in front of the black mirror with script-like motions. The darkness began to fade to gray, and two ghostly faces appeared. As the image continued to bleach to bright, titanium white, the wedding portrait of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy was revealed.

It was not a moving or a living portrait. They were dressed in white finery, bejeweled like royals in a Renaissance court portrait. I spared Lucius a brief glance. I could see the traits that Mr. Malfoy and Scorpius had inherited from him. He was pale with gray eyes, a straight nose and a strong jaw that I knew made him handsome even though he wasn't appealing to me. He wore his white hair long and straight. His expression was haughty.

I turned all my attention to Narcissa's painted image. Her bridal veil was pulled back. She wore an exquisite tiara in her pale hair. It was crafted from hundreds of small diamonds to resemble a wreath of flowers. Her face is so like the one in the photograph I'd treasured for years. Only now, in color, I could see the radiance of her flawless skin, the blush of her cheeks, and the ice-blue of her eyes, which shone with pride and hope.

"Our eyes met for the very first time in a mirror," Narcissa said. "People say that's a sign of a happy union, and it was. In that instant, I knew I was gazing at my soul mate. Then I turned, and he was there, so tall and handsome."

"He was very handsome," I said, to please her.

"Yes," she said. After a long pause, she added softly, "He died in Azkaban."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"He lost himself to despair and gave up all hope. After that, he went into sharp decline. He became so old, so fast."

I didn't know what to say so I remained silent.

"The last time I saw him, he was... his skin was..." She faltered, and there was horror in her unspoken words. She reached out to the portrait, her trembling fingers almost touching her late husband's painted cheek. Then, frightened, she pulled away. Impulsively, I took her hand in my own. My heart beat wildly inside my chest, like shuddering wings.

Narcissa looked down at our linked fingers. The haunted look never left her eyes even as she gazed at me and smiled. "Thank you, Lily Luna. You are the sweetest girl."

I wasn't sure what she was thanking me for – for a comforting touch, for being kind, for not condemning. But her words and the fact that she kept her hand in mine filled me with pleasure.

"He told me not to come back to visit him," she said. "He told me to remember him as he had been before. At first I refused, but he made me promise it. With blood. So he is like this for me, now and always. A young, perfect man. The man I married."

Narcissa would always love Lucius Malfoy. It should be no other way. But it was _my_ hand she held for several more seconds, before our fingers slid apart. She wrote in the air again, and the portrait began to fade away and then glow faintly silver as it became a clear mirror.

I watched as the painted image of Narcissa disappeared, replaced by the reflection of the real Narcissa. Only by witnessing this transformation did I see that Time had indeed touched her more than I'd realized. Her skin became less clear and bright. Ghost-faint lines appeared around her mouth. That didn't matter to me. She was still "the fairest of them all".

As we stared at each other in the glass, something almost worshipful in her gaze baffled me. I didn't understand how _she_ could direct such a look at me.

"You say you're not beautiful, Lily Luna. But you're mistaken. Your hair, it's like fire, bright and hypnotic. Your eyes are as dark as midnight. They speak of the depth of your soul. And your skin. Radiant, soft, so very young."

She reached out and touched my cheek. My eyelids fluttered shut, and I leaned into her touch. "Never take for granted the gifts of youth and beauty," she said before whispering some words in French. I opened my eyes, puzzled.

"You don't speak French?" she asked.

I shook my head, ashamed.

"You should learn it. It's a beautiful language. I dream in French. I just told the elves to braid your hair into tight plaits. When they loosen it the morning, it will have the most gorgeous waves. Like the Venus."

"Botticelli?"

"Yes," Narcissa said, approval in her tone. "I see we are both admirers of great beauty. I'm so glad you're here. My men, they don't care about things like art. Not like you and I do."

She touched my cheek again, this time her fingers sliding back, along the blade of my cheekbone and into my hair. A tremor ran through me.

"Good night, Lily Luna. Tomorrow morning, we'll have breakfast in the gardens, just the two of us."

I watched her leave the room. My eyes, hungry for her beauty, admired the curve of her back in its crystal gown. I watched the door after she was gone until I felt work-roughened fingers guide my head forward again. In the mirror, behind me, I saw one of the elves. She stood upon a little bench, dividing my hair into sections.

"What's your name?" I asked her.

"We are called Twin," the elf said with a tone of finality.

"You're wearing dresses. Are you free elves?"

"No!" she exclaimed. I had offended her. "We are bound to Mistress by ancient magic. We would _never_ leave her."

"Mistress likes Twin to wear dresses," the other one whispered. "But we would never leave her."

The second elf was more demure than her sister. In my mind, I dubbed them Fierce and Meek. It seemed wrong that someone shouldn't have her own name.

I watched my reflection as Fierce moved her hands in the air above my head. Sections of my hair floated up, as if underwater. Each section then divided into three stands, which began to weave together. I looked like Medusa with her head of writhing snakes. Fierce conducted this magic with motions so precise and complex that I gave up trying to memorize them.

"Here, young miss." Meek held a glass of clear liquid out to me. I took it with a skeptical glance. It was too thick to be water.

"What is this?" I asked.

"From Mistress, for you. She drinks it every night for a good sleep and pleasant dreams."

As I lifted the cup to my mouth, I breathed in and was confused by the scent of roses rising from the liquid. I took a tentative sip. The drink was as sweet as sugar. For an irrational moment, I thought that roses must taste like sugar, which, of course, they wouldn't. I took another sip.

"Think of whom you wish to dream about," said Fierce. "And you will dream about him."

"Perhaps the young master?" Meek added.

Scorpius Malfoy wasn't the person I wanted to dream about. He never had been.

As I took another sip of the sugared rose-water, I felt drowsy and warm. My silk robe caressed my skin. The scent of flowers and candles saturated the air. I gazed into the mirror, watching strands of my hair float and twist together. My red hair, which Narcissa had compared to fire. My eyes, as dark as night. My skin, radiant and young. I reached up to touch my cheek as she had, but my own fingers didn't have the same thrilling effect.

I didn't remember being led to bed that night. But I remembered the blissful moment my head sank into heavenly softness. I remembered wondering if were possible to dream in a language you didn't speak.

So many impossible things were possible. In dreams.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**Thanks for reading – reviews are welcomed!**


	3. Chapter 3

**YOUTH AND BLOOD**

* * *

_So many impossible things were possible. In dreams._

* * *

**PART THREE**

I couldn't tell if I was asleep or awake.

I knew my dreams had been filled with pleasure. I could still feel it in the languid warmth of my body as the elves took my hands. They pulled me out of my bed and dressed me in my silk robe, the one with the small, white flowers on it that bloomed over and over.

It was dark. Embers glowed in the hearth. My feet touched the carpet, and I felt the cascade of dozens of heavy braids falling across my back.

"What?" I said, bewildered and still dream-soft.

"We're taking you to Mistress," Fierce said, pulling me forward. I felt oddly detached, as if she were holding someone else's hand, not mine.

The elves led me out of my bedroom and into the hallway with its blue torchlight. I had entered the maze again and had to trust my guides. I remembered the story of the Minotaur and its labyrinth. The tribute of Athens, seven youths and seven maidens sacrificed to the creature's hunger. Like Theseus, I walked through long corridors, up twisting staircases and through doorways. But I was utterly lost without a silken thread to lead me back.

I remembered Daddy telling me and my brothers the story of _his_ maze, from the Triwizard Tournament. He'd told us about the Dementor boggart and the Blast-Ended Skrewt, the riddle of the Sphinx and the giant spider. Daddy had won that tournament. It wasn't until years later, when I was at Hogwarts, that I'd learned there was more to this story. My textbook didn't give details beyond the fact that the golden Cup had been a Portkey and that Voldemort had risen in a graveyard. That Harry Potter had fought him and escaped with the body of Cedric Diggory.

One winter evening during Christmas break, sitting by the fire, I'd asked Daddy what had happened that night. He'd taken off his glasses to clean them on the hem of his shirt. He always did this when he was considering how to say something. He'd looked straight at me, his eyes a bright, beautiful green under his dark brows.

"Lily Luna, that was a terrible night. You don't need to be burdened with such dark things. You're too young."

"You were young then, too, Daddy."

"I was. I did what I had to do," he said, "but you..." He'd smiled and stroked my hair with his large hand. "You don't have to do those things, and I don't want you to give them a second thought."

I had told him that I was sorry he'd had to do such hard things as a boy. He'd pulled me into his arms and kissed the top of my head and whispered, "You are the sweetest girl."

Just what Narcissa had called me.

I didn't know why I was being led to her in the middle of the night, but I was happy I would see her again. I followed Fierce and Meek around yet another corner and found myself at the base of a golden staircase.

"Mistress is waiting," Fierce said before Disapparating with her sister, leaving me alone.

The stairs were steep and seemed endless. Blue-flamed torches flanked my path. My breath grew ragged, but knowing Narcissa was waiting, I kept climbing until I reached the top. There, the torchlight was red and gold, and it illuminated a pair of tall doors so magnificent they must have been goblin-made. They portrayed a scene of autumn with a great tree in the center, crafted of gold and ornately carved wood and leaves of shimmering, red mosaic glass.

Were these the doors to Narcissa's bedroom? Why had she summoned me?

My drowsy mind imagined her standing before me again. One of her hands reached inside my silk robe and slid around my naked waist to pull me close. Strangely, I didn't feel nervous about this prospect at all. If she were to ask, I would give her my innocence without hesitation.

I touched the seam between the doors, and they opened away from me with a deep groan. Bathed in bright light, I stepped over the threshold.

It wasn't a bedroom. I wasn't sure what it is. If the entrance to the manor was like a cathedral with its majestic gray stone, this room was like a pagan temple. Its walls were black. Its ceiling soared. Every other surface was golden, engraved or glittering in the light of hundreds of candles. There was a mural covering the far wall, the same scene on the door but now in winter. The great tree's branches were stark and lined with sparkling, glass snow.

Narcissa was at the base of the tree - where a queen would sit if this were this a throne room. She sat in an ornate pool filled with clear water, immersed to the sloping lines of her collarbones. The pool was no wider than her reach, fingertip to fingertip, but it was as long as the Malfoy dining table.

_This... This was a bathroom?_

I laughed at the absurdity of it, and the sharp sound echoed off the walls. I remembered my tiny bathroom at home with its narrow, white tub and lily pad shower curtain. A Muggle rubber duck sat between my shampoo and conditioner bottles, a gift from Grandpa who had proudly told me it was "just for fun."

"Hello, Lily Luna," Narcissa said.

"Hello."

She was naked, her bare shoulders and neck rising out of the water. Her hair was still in braids and coiled at the nape of her neck. I didn't know why, but she was wearing the tiara she had worn in her wedding portrait, its diamond flowers crowning her pale twists of hair. She was stunning beyond words.

"I can barely see you to speak to you, dear," Narcissa said, smiling at our private joke. "Come closer."

I obeyed, until I stood near the steps at the end of the pool, several meters away from her. Here, by the water, the room was sultry and fragrant with roses. The tiles under my feet felt sun-warmed. I noticed a thick line of gray ash on the floor around the entire pool.

"What is that?" I asked.

"A ring of cinders. It soaks up any water that splashes over the sides. One of those medieval customs still practiced by house-elves. They're quite stubborn about it."

I stared down at the ash. "There's a Muggle story about a servant girl who sleeps by the kitchen hearth. They call her a cinder girl, but by the end of the story, she becomes a princess."

"Lily Luna, I hope you don't think of yourself as a cinder girl. You've always been a princess." She paused until I looked into her eyes. Then she said the unimaginable. "Surely you know that I am quite besotted with you."

Despite my dreamy lassitude, my heart raced at her confession. These sensations didn't go together. And for some reason, I didn't feel anxious at all.

"Don't you feel it, too?" Narcissa asked. "That you and I are kindred spirits."

I had reached another turning point in my story. The Final Door opened, the Final Choice made, the Final Chance taken, which would lead me directly to my happy end. I didn't hesitate.

"Yes, I feel it, too."

Narcissa's smile was brilliant. My breath hitched. She lifted her hand out of the water and held it out toward me in invitation. I didn't blush or stammer. I slipped my robe off my shoulders and felt its silk slide down my naked body. I had no compulsion to cover myself as I stepped over the border of cinders and climbed the outer steps of the pool. Standing upon its edge for a moment, I saw Narcissa's slender body, pale and hazy, beneath the water. As I walked down the underwater steps inside the pool, I sighed at the delightful heat embracing me. The water reached my stomach.

"Come closer," she said. "Let me take down your braids."

I walked to her, my stride slow in the heavy water, until my foot touched her foot. Then I sank down until my breasts were covered, just like hers. Not because I was shy but because I wanted to feel exactly what she felt – this floating, silky-wet sensation. She reached out and pulled the long rope of one of my braids over my shoulder. I watched her fingers as she began to untwine it from the end. I drifted closer to her until my thighs slid against hers underwater.

"There," Narcissa said, holding a rippling strand of my hair. "Gorgeous waves, just like the Venus."

I looked down at my hair and saw her pink nipples rising out of the water. Arousal swept through me, settling between my restless thighs as an aching pulse. My breath came faster. It seemed loud in the large room, but I wasn't ashamed. As she reached for another braid, I gazed at her with open desire. I worshipped her face, so close to mine, her full lips, her winter-white hair. I reached out and coaxed one of her plaits out of its knot.

As we unbraided each other's hair, strand by strand, we floated closer together until our foreheads almost touched. Our legs became entwined, anchoring our weightlessness. Our breasts brushed together, slick with water, and I moaned as sharp need twisted deep inside me. With the slightest turn of our heads, we would be kissing. But Narcissa concentrated fully on her task. So I concentrated as best I could on mine until I had unraveled her last braid, and her hair lay in beautiful waves over her shoulders. I looked into her ice-blue eyes in wonder, not knowing what would happen next.

"It is time," Narcissa whispered.

"Yes."

Her arms wrapped around me and pulled me into a tight embrace. I closed my eyes and gasped at the thrill of our sleek skin touching _everywhere_. My cheek rested in the cove between her neck and her shoulder. My arms twined around her, and she caressed my back. Unable to resist the intensity of my desires any longer, I arched my hips forward, pressing against her eagerly. She began to whisper words in a language I didn't understand. It wasn't French. It sounded more exotic than that, strange and ancient. Overcome, I kissed her throat. She turned her head away from me, and I heard her heartbeat quicken.

When I opened my eyes, I saw Fierce and Meek approaching us. They each held a long, silver dagger.

* * *

I didn't understand. It didn't make sense, the sinister glint of steel against those white, linen dresses. I wondered if this was another medieval custom, like the cinders, like bleeding. I even wondered if I were dreaming again and if my dreams had tumbled into a nightmare. The twin elves walked closer, their amber eyes blazing with resolve. I couldn't tell Fierce from Meek any longer. They both seemed ferocious.

"Narcissa," I said with concern, "the elves."

"Hush, dear," she whispered. "It's all right."

"I – I don't understand."

I didn't want to make a fool of myself as I had at dinner, but fear was beginning to shake me. The twins had reached the edge of the pool and levitated over it, floating in the air, until one hovered on either side of us. Their bare toes grazed the surface of the water. I held Narcissa tightly.

"Hold out your hand, Lily Luna," she said.

"No! Please tell me what's happening. I don't understand."

"Hold out your hand," Narcissa said again, gently stroking my back.

I looked into her calm eyes, every instinct telling me she meant me harm. But she couldn't. She was so beautiful. She'd been so kind to me. She'd said I was beautiful, that she was _besotted_ with me. And I had loved her for so many years, the mystery of her behind the veil, the girl in the photograph, the dream of who she really was. Her hand on my back felt so wonderful. There had to be a reason for this. I summoned my courage and held out one of my trembling hands.

Narcissa kissed my neck, and I shivered at the rapturous feeling it aroused even as I watched the dagger slice through the skin between my first two fingers. I felt an agonizing sting and cried out. I stared in horrified fascination, as blood welled up and flowed in a bright red scrawl down the back of my hand.

"No," I said, pulling away. Narcissa caught my wrist in her firm grip. She held my hand in place while the elf made two more slits, with frightening efficiency, between my other fingers. My hand was covered in blood now. My pain had a heartbeat. It was throbbing.

"Thank you," Narcissa said.

"Please tell me what this is for," I begged, my voice breaking."Why are you thanking me?"

"I'm thanking you because I'm so grateful."

"For what?"

"For your sacrifice."

She dipped my bleeding hand into the clear water. The reaction was immediate. The water hissed and grew hotter. My blood flowed through it, unnaturally fast, creating red swirls that looked like smoke. The smell of metal replaced the smell of roses in the air.

This was a potion, and my blood was an ingredient.

I was the sacrifice.

* * *

**TO BE CONCLUDED**

**Thanks for reading – reviews are welcomed!**


	4. Chapter 4

**YOUTH AND BLOOD**

* * *

_This was a potion, and my blood was an ingredient. _

_I was the sacrifice._

* * *

**PART FOUR**

I screamed and struck out at her, my whole body moving at once. I was clumsy in the water, my hand slippery with blood. Her hands tightened, holding me against her with incredible strength, as the elves swarmed around me. Their silver daggers flashed, cutting me over and over - between the fingers of my other hand, on my hip, on my arm. Narcissa whispered foreign words against my skin, and I knew now they were an incantation. I felt a searing pain as my back was sliced open along the curve of my spine.

First, I screamed in agony. Then I screamed in terror, the piercing sound amplified by the large room. We were so deep inside the manor, lost in the labyrinth. Could Scorpius even hear me? Could Mr. Malfoy? Would they come to save me? Why had I let myself become so defenseless, disarmed the moment I'd stepped inside the manor?

"Hush, Lily Luna, calm down," Narcissa soothed, her breath warm against my ear.

I screamed until my throat was raw. When I stopped, I was panting and exhausted. I closed my eyes, trying to endure the pain. The bathwater was hot, but I was cold inside and trembling. Narcissa rubbed her hands over the goose bumps on my arms even as she whispered spells to keep my blood flowing freely, to spill all the warmth out of me. My mouth was parched, and I let out a small, pitiful cough.

"Poor darling," I heard Narcissa say in a muffled voice. "Let me help you. _Consoliatus_."

The pain from my wounds disappeared. I sighed at the relief of numbness. Lethargy flowed through me, making me sleepy and dull. But I couldn't fall asleep. If I did, I might never wake up. I forced my eyes open.

The elves and their knives were gone. The bathwater around us was a red so pure it hurt my eyes. I couldn't see our bodies beneath the surface anymore. But I felt Narcissa. With my pain gone, I felt the silky slide of body against mine. She cradled me in her arms. I turned my head and saw that my blood still twisted through the clear water, like a living creature, moving toward the far end of the narrow pool. I thought of the Plagues of Egypt, of a river transformed into blood.

"Are you killing me?" I whispered.

"Yes, dear," Narcissa said, her voice as tender as a mother's. "I don't wish to, but I must."

"This is how you stay young."

"Yes."

"How many others?"

"Many."

"Rose?" I murmured.

"Yes." I heard hardness in Narcissa's voice at this admission, a fracture in her gentleness. She hadn't liked Rose. What was wrong with me that this pleased me? That Narcissa liked me better than my cousin, whose wild-haired beauty and sharp wit had always cast a shadow over me?

"She fought you," I said.

"Yes. She was quite difficult to subdue. We had to persuade her. We almost lost control of Scorpius."

"He's under the Imperius Curse."

She nodded. "He isn't ready to know this yet. One day, he will be."

I realized now that Scorpius had only become my friend under the influence of a spell, to lure me here to this moment. But he was still my friend, and my heart ached for him to be so manipulated. I remembered our afternoons by the lake and our long, sad conversations. I remembered the heartbreaking sound of his sobs at the Burrow. How he and Rose had kissed with a passion that seemed to burn the air around them. Scorpius had loved Rose fervently, and I doubted that any power in the world could make his heart truly forget that. After all, despite Narcissa's spells, he had _known_ that Rose was dead.

Was she buried in the Malfoy gardens? Would they bury me beside her?

"What will you do with my body?"

"The ritual requires that I use every part of it."

"What do you mean?"

She didn't answer my question. Instead, she placed a kiss on my brow. "You are so much sweeter than Rose. And unlike her, you are pure. Like an angel, like a lily."

_Like an angel, like a lily,_ I thought. _My Lily, my Luna._

Hope flared inside me. Daddy...

My family, all of them, would know I was in danger. I'd been added to Gran Molly's clock. The spoon-shaped hand bearing my face would have moved to Mortal Peril with a shrill chime moments ago, if not long before. Perhaps the moment I'd stepped through the wards of Malfoy Manor.

Daddy knew I was here. He would save me.

"My father is coming for me."

"No, my dear, he's not," Narcissa said, stroking my hair. "I'm so sorry."

I explained about the clock, but she just listened silently until I realized that my owl had never reached my parents and that the answer I'd received hadn't been from them. The smell of metal was so thick in the air now that I grew nauseous.

"My brothers," I whispered. "They know I'm here. I told them myself."

"Their memories have been altered."

No one knew I was here. No one was going to rescue me. My family would all be gathered at the Burrow again. Helpless. Again.

I thought of Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron fighting about Rose. How they hardly spoke to each other now. How inconsolable Hugo looked with his huge, blue, haunted eyes. These images tore through me, sharper than the knives, and I began to sob like a child. Narcissa tried to comfort me with soft words and soft touches, but I only cried harder, gasping and choking on hot tears.

This wasn't Wonderland or Oz or Narnia. It wasn't the Garden of the Fountain of Fair Fortune. It was the castle of a Beast, disguised as a Beauty. And she would never release me. I would never be able to go home.

The chamber door opened, and my stupid heart soared with irrational hope.

_Daddy!_

I looked up and saw Mr. Malfoy approaching, still wearing impeccable gray and white. I didn't know if he was an ally or not. I spoke without thinking.

"Mr. Malfoy, help me! She's killing me!"

His hard expression didn't change, and I knew he was a part of this. Had he been like Scorpius once? Manipulated into helping her? If that had ever been true, it wasn't true now. He had resigned himself to this familial duty. His step was purposeful, and his gray eyes, resolute. He stopped beside us, sitting on the edge of the pool. Close enough to save me, close enough to pull me out of the dangerous cradle of her arms. But he wouldn't.

"Thank you, Mother," he said.

I felt the brush of his shirt against my cheek as he leaned over me and kissed Narcissa. I was embraced by their bodies. The touch of their lips was silent, chaste and seemed to last forever as I listened to three sets of heartbeats. Even now, I wondered what it would feel like to kiss her. I was foolish to wish for such a thing while she was draining my life away.

Their kiss ended, and Narcissa transferred me into Mr. Malfoy's arms. He pulled me away from her, gripping my slick wrists, until I floated to the edge of the pool beside him. His white shirt was stained red.

"Lily Luna," he said gently, "this isn't your fault. You're a beautiful girl. A good girl. But you carry the blood of my enemy in your veins." He traced the hot drip of blood between my cold fingers. Through Narcissa's sorcery, the entire pool was red with my blood now.

"This is your father's fault," Mr. Malfoy continued. "He and his friends have to be punished for what they did to me and my family."

I didn't know what he meant. As I looked up at him, I saw no remorse in his eyes. He gazed at me for a moment before turning his attention back to his mother. I looked at her, too, and knew I was witnessing the final stages of the ritual.

Narcissa was standing up, her breasts and waist above the bloodwater. The diamonds in her white hair glittered. Fierce and Meek levitated beside her again. Narsissa spoke the incantation, and the elves whispered it several beats behind her until the strange words wove together like musical notes, like a fugue. Behind her, the winter scene decorating the wall began to change. The snow on the great tree melted and faded away as the gray sky brightened to blue. Tiny tesserae of green mosaic glass appeared, shifting and growing, to form buds on the golden branches.

Narcissa's voice fell silent. Fierce and Meek still whispered their chant as they lifted the diamond tiara from her head. When they, in turn, fell silent, they placed the crown upon the red water before her. It floated for a moment before sinking.

Shafts of white light emitted from the sunken diamonds. The entire pool flooded with a brilliance so intense I had to close my eyes against it. The water grew turbulent. When I opened my eyes, the temple glittered as if the sun had appeared inside it. Even the black walls shimmered darkly. Narcissa glowed white, her blue eyes open wide. The tree behind her had blossomed with thousands of delicate white, glass flowers.

She said one word before she sank below the churning surface of the bloodwater.

"Lucius."

She stayed submerged for so long that I wondered if she were dead, but Mr. Malfoy sat on the edge of the pool behind me, composed, his hands on my shoulders. He must have known she was safe. Soon, the white light faded, and the water calmed until it became a tranquil red again.

Narcissa rose out of it, transformed.

The bloodwater sluiced off her, leaving no stain. The faint wrinkles on her face had been wiped smooth. The spots on her hands, bleached away. She was radiant and flawless. The pale angel from the photograph I'd treasured for years. The bride in her wedding portrait, her blue eyes luminous with pride and hope.

My eyes followed the curve of her long neck into her shoulder, the grace of her arms and her breasts, how her delicate waist flared into feminine hips. All else was concealed in a bath of my blood. I was assailed by a wave of dizziness and closed my eyes again. But the image of her perfection was burned inside me. I could see her against the dark of my eyelids. Her long lashes, her pink nipples, her firm skin.

She was so beautiful. So _young_. We have made her so, the Malfoy gardens. The Rose and the Lily and all the other nameless flowers she had plucked in the fragile, potent hour of their first bloom.

_Gather ye rosebuds while ye may..._

"Twin," she said.

I forced my weary eyes open, fearing the daggers. Instead, I saw a silver hand mirror floating toward Narcissa. She took it from the air, gazed at her reflection and smiled.

"Uncover the mirrors," she ordered. "All of them."

"Mother, you have never looked more beautiful," Mr. Malfoy said in an awed voice. I had forgotten he was behind me.

"Draco," Narcissa whispered.

She walked toward him, toward us, the red water swaying around her hips like silk. I thought I would be discarded now, left to sink and drown, but she looked down at me and smiled with affection.

"Lily Luna, you were perfect," she said. "So much better than Rose. Her struggles tainted the magic. Her gift faded too soon."

It had been almost a year since Rose had gone missing. I wondered when Narcissa would use Scorpius to lure her next sacrifice to the manor. Did she only want girls? Or would she want my brothers - Jamie with his charming smile and Al with his green eyes? I knew her desire for youth and beauty was obsessive and insatiable. So I prayed that Mr. Malfoy's vengeance had been satisfied by killing the daughters of his enemies. I would never know.

I whispered her name. Three soft syllable, born of myth.

"Yes, darling?"

I gazed up at her, my strength almost gone. "I stole a photograph of you from your sister. There's a white dress in my trunk at home. Since the first time I saw you, when I was seven, I wanted to be you. I wanted to meet you."

"Lily," she murmured, stroking my cheek. I tried to raise my hand, but my arm was made of metal now, a gauntlet too heavy to lift. Narcissa leaned closer. She was going to kiss my lips. With a whimper, I turned my face away from her. Part of me regretted it the instant I did it.

"I thought you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen," I said, too weak to turn my head back to look at her. "But I was wrong to put such faith in beauty. You're not what you seem. You're evil and corrupt. You're ugly."

I didn't see the shock and pain that must have twisted Narcissa's face. But I knew I'd hurt her deeply. I heard her gasp and felt her recoil. Mr. Malfoy swore as he grabbed me brutally by my hair. His other hand reached for his wand to cast the Killing Curse.

"_Avada_-"

"No!" Narcissa screamed. "Stop!" She lunged forward and grabbed his wand arm to protect me.

I was still so naive, so stupid. I dared to hope that she had changed her mind, that she wished to spare me. Heal me. Hold and comfort me.

"Only by the blade, Draco," she begged softly. "The ritual."

"Only by the blade," Mr. Malfoy repeated bitterly. He tucked his wand into his pocket. "Give me a dagger."

A knife flew into his outstretched hand, as if it had been summoned. He hauled me out of the bloodwater by my hair until the most secret part of my body was exposed. I was sprawled across his lap on my back, my legs spread wide. He held the silver blade between my wet breasts. The elves, ever efficient, had already cleaned the knife until it gleamed. Mr. Malfoy didn't speak, but I heard his vicious words inside my mind as he glared down at me.

_I was wrong about you, Lily Luna Potter. You're a bitch just like your cousin. Did you know your father tried to kill me once? Sliced great gashes across my chest. I almost died in a fucking bathroom. I think his Flower Moon deserves the same fate for being such a cunt._

The dagger sliced through my skin. Blood sprayed out, splattering across Narcissa's breasts. I was still numb and felt no pain. The pattern Mr. Malfoy drew on me was swift and deliberate, and I was certain there were scars on his chest to match it. He threw the knife into the pool, drew out his wand and gave it a disdainful, upward flick. In a flash of white light, the weight of my limbs was replaced by an eerie lightness. I was quickly lifted into the air by my ankles, traveling almost to the high ceiling within a second. I felt like I would vomit. I hovered for a moment before starting to slowly revolve. Blood seeped out of the wounds on my torn chest. It dripped down my neck and the long curtain of my hair. _Rapunzel, Rapunzel._

Far below me, I heard their anxious words.

"She said I was ugly. Draco, didn't it work? I saw –"

"It worked, Mother. You're beautiful. Young and beautiful."

"Just like my portrait."

"Just like your portrait. Look in the mirrors."

As I slowly turned, I saw Fierce and Meek waving their hands before the black walls. Each tall panel was a darkened mirror. The glass began to clear, floor to ceiling, the darkness rising up like a stage curtain to reveal perfect reflection. Soon, all the black mirrors in the house would be made light again. Dozens of them to multiply her beauty. Now that she is young again. Now that she looked so impossibly like the woman in the portrait, the woman he had married.

She preserves herself, restores herself, for him alone. A man whose bones had long since been reduced to dust in a cell of stone and rust and salt.

True love lasts forever.

"Mother, look how beautiful you are," I heard Mr. Malfoy coax. "Please look."

"Draco, I miss him so much," Narcissa cried out, the pitch of her voice rising. "Why did he give up and just waste away? His skin... you don't understand. I needed him. I _need_ him, and he left me. Oh, God! Lucius!"

Hysterical with grief, she sobbed and began to chant her dead husband's name.

The mirrored walls had been cleared to the ceiling now. With drowsy eyes, I watched my own reflection move from panel to panel as I slowly revolved. I was a strange chandelier – naked and broken, my white limbs sliced with blood. My hair hung down in rippling waves. Like the Venus. My chest was destroyed, red and wet with Death, one of my small breasts sliced open like a piece of fruit. My wounds dripped a steady stream of hot blood into the pool below.

When I was little, Daddy had swung me upside down, around and around. Sometimes with magic. Sometimes with his strong hands. The world had been sunny, warm and dizzy, the grass above and the sky below. And then it would all twist and change. _Stop_, I had begged him. _Never stop_, I'd meant. I had been breathless with laughter and freedom and joy.

Narcissa was screaming.

"Draco, please! Your hands. You can't get old. You can't die. Don't leave me!"

"Mother, I will never leave you. _Never_." Mr. Malfoy spoke with a mad devotion, and his promise silenced Narcissa. Her sobs abated, and her breathing became less frantic. When she spoke again, her tone was quiet and pleading.

"Please."

_Please, one more._

As a girl, I'd always begged for one more bedtime story. If Mum said _no_, Daddy would say _yes_ and convince her with a kiss. But it was Mum, my practical Mum, who'd made the stories so amazing. Daddy would tell them, but she would draw them, casting magical shadows upon the wall. Castles and dragons, a mermaid in the sea. Black silhouettes dancing in the golden glow of flickering candlelight.

I saw a slow, spinning glimpse of Mr. Malfoy in the mirrored walls. He had taken off all his clothes and stood naked at the edge of the pool. He was pale, strong and lean except for a softness around his stomach. I had never seen a penis before. It was a strange-looking thing, long and pink, sticking out from a little thatch of white-blond hair. I stared at it until my body turned away.

Once, a neighbor boy had tried to show me his penis. My brothers had chased him away. Jamie had been so furious that his young, untrained magic had sparked, and a broken tree limb had nearly killed the boy. My brothers had always teased me, but they had also always protected me. They were my defenders, my knights in dirty trainers.

They would blame themselves.

As my body turned back again, I saw Mr. Malfoy laying over Narcissa. His waist seemed trimmer than it had just a moment before. My blood dripped onto his pale back, and I remembered one of my favorite stories. The Queen pricked her finger with a needle, and the red looked so pretty upon the white snow. That's how it begins. With snow and blood and ebony. With a wish for a daughter. Another sleeping princess, this one preserved in a crystal casket in the woods, a bit of poisoned apple caught inside her throat.

Mr. Malfoy was still changing, his body becoming younger and stronger. His hair was growing back, but it was growing too long. Soon, it covered his back, lustrous and white. Narcissa stroked it and gazed up at him with an expression of pure adoration upon on her beautiful face.

Her beautiful face. I couldn't look at it anymore.

I closed my eyes with a feeling of immense relief. My eyelashes were so heavy. They were like little fans of iron. If I lifted them, I feared I would shred my eyelids.

I heard the bloodwater sloshing against the sides of the pool in a hypnotic rhythm. Was it spilling over the edges, soaking into the dam of cinders? Narcissa had said every part of my body would be used in the ritual. I imagined red cinders sprinkled onto her meat like salt. Stirred into her tea like sugar.

The Wicked Queen would eat my heart. She would drink my blood. A vampire, after all.

I was so dizzy. I wished I could stop spinning. She was not as she seemed. White with a black, black soul. The monster in the maze. _Stop thinking about her. You have wasted your life thinking about her._ I had so little time left, and I was so cold, my bones like ice. I just wanted to go home.

_For the last time, Lily Luna, pay attention._

I _am_ your Lily, your Luna. You will never know. You will never know peace now that the clock chimes Mortal Peril. Gone without a trace. Never to be found again. I'm so sorry.

I'm sorry I didn't say what I should have said. That I love you all so much. I'm sorry I was too foolish to see what I had. Wishing for a castle instead of my own home, imperfect and precious with its mismatched pillowcases. It is love. Home is love. Please, let it still be love, after I'm gone.

Mummy, Daddy, don't fight. Please don't blame each other. This is my fault. All my fault. With all my heart, I regret it.

I love you. I'm sorry. Forgive me.

Every heartbeat is slower than the last. The world hushed and cold, like the middle of winter. Three drops of blood fall upon the snow, and the Queen makes a wish. _Would that I had a child..._

Once upon a time.

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**THE END**

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**Thank you for reading _Youth and Blood_ - reviews are welcomed. Love, Captainraychill**

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**Additional Author's Notes:**

There are about five liters of blood in the human body. At the loss of 1.5 liters, someone would feel weak, thirsty and anxious. Breathing would accelerate. At the loss of 2 liters, someone would feel dizzy, confused and eventually lose consciousness.

This story was inspired by Elisabeth Bathory, the "Blood Countess" of Hungary (b. 1560 – d. 1614). In addition to viciously torturing and murdering possibly hundreds of young girls, she was rumored to bathe in their blood in the belief that it would restore her youth and beauty. Details of Bathory's legend borrowed for this story include her slitting the skin between girls' fingers and how she placed cinders around her bed to soak up their blood. Even when she was sick and bedridden, she felt compelled to continue her tortures.

This story's opening quote is from the famous poem _To the Virgins, To Make Much of Time_ by Robert Herrick (b. 1591 – d. 1674) which begins, "Gather ye rosebuds, while ye may." I also borrow lines from my favorite fairy tale, _Little Snow White_, by the Brothers Grimm. Lily Luna's appreciation of the syllables of Narcissa's name is a nod to Vladimir Nabokov's _Lolita_, which was published in 1955.

I created the _Consoliatus _spell for this story. The Latin translation for "comfort" is "consolationem". I thought _Consoliatus_, as a word, sounded good when paired with its opposite, _Cruciatus_.

Source for all above notes: the glorious Internet. Worth Googling: Elizabeth Bathory, mirror-related mourning customs and superstitions, an image of the moonstone rose and an interesting definition (psychiatry, not music) of the word _fugue_. Who knew? I didn't.


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